Remembrance
by Mornwey
Summary: A series of drabbles set after Deathly Hallows. Spoiler warning, obviously
1. Innocent

**Remembrance: A series of drabbles set after DH. I own nothing.**

**1- Innocent**

After everything – especially a battle – there was a lot of mess to be cleared up. In the case of the Battle of Hogwarts, this meant clearing away the bodies for proper burial, arresting any surviving Death Eaters, and rounding up the assorted magical beasts lurking around. Harry was sitting on a low wall in the courtyard, watching Aurors bringing in captured and wandless Death Eaters.

"Scum," an Auror spat; "Azkaban's too good for them."

Part of Harry couldn't help but agree, but a glimpse of white-blonde hair had him on his feet and elbowing his way through the crowd of spectators. He fought his way through to the side of the Auror in charge, a man he suspected was called Corman, although he could have been mistaken. "No," he said.

"What?" the man – Gorman; that was it – replied with a confused frown.

"You can't send her to Azkaban."

Narcissa Malfoy stared at him, her robes torn and bedraggled, her pale hair tangled, dirty and splattered with blood. Gorman looked rather like he'd just swallowed something foul tasting. He also stared at Harry, but with something akin to disbelief and possibly even contempt in his eyes.

"She is a Death Eater."

"She saved my life."

Gorman gave a snort, as if he highly doubted this story. In the background, Lucius raised an eyebrow at his wife. She glared defiantly back and he smiled faintly. Harry didn't notice this – he held the Auror's gaze, not backing down an inch. Gorman's lip curled, and Harry looked away in disgust. Seeming unaware of the multitude of wands aimed at her, Narcissa ignored the Aurors and stepped out of line. She bowed deeply – Harry supposed the shackles on her hands and feet would have made a curtsey impossible – and smiled at Harry as she straightened. "You saved my son's life, and helped me find him. I can never repay you," she said quite calmly. Utterly lost, Lucius cast an imploring sort of look at Draco, who gave an apologetic half-shrug.

"Let her go," Harry repeated, glaring death at Gorman. Muttering obscenities under his breath, the Auror complied.


	2. Broken

_**Krizue:** Will do_

_**Katharina-B:** It disappointed me as well that there wasn't more follow-up for this. Glad you liked it!_

_**CoNnY-B:** I'll admit that I'd hoped for something like this since HBP, but I was pleasantly surprised to find it actually happening…_

_**Kates Master:** Your wish is my command_

_**Vanus Empty:** I found myself unexpectedly impressed by the entire Malfoy family. In the end, they were far more loyal to each other than they ever were to Voldemort._

**2- Broken**

It should have been raining. Steely grey clouds should have blotted out the sun, and the wind should have howled around the gathered mourners. Icy rain should have lashed against the tombstone to echo the tears shed by the gathering of friends and family. But it didn't. Bright sunlight beamed cheerily down on the graveyard outside Ottery St. Catchpole and not a shred of cloud marred the clear blue expanse of sky above their heads. A soft breeze made the leaves on the trees whisper, providing a relief from the hot summer sun. It was dreadfully inappropriate.

Ron couldn't help but think that Fred would have found that funny.

In fact, neither of the twins had ever had any patience for funerals: when someone was dead they were dead, and moping wasn't going to change anything. At Uncle Bilius' funeral they had stood at the back of the crowd and conversed in whispers all through the service, sniggering quietly. Mum had been furious with them about it, ranting and raving for hours after they got home. It had quite taken everyone's minds off the topic in hand. _No chance of that now_, Ron thought, casting a sideways glance at the sad, forlorn figure of his surviving twin brother.

"_How is he?" Lee Jordan had asked him softly as they arrived at the grave._

"_Sometimes I think he died as well the night Fred did," Ron had replied quietly, numbly; "He goes through the motions, but there's not much of my brother left in there."_

Afterwards they went back to the Burrow, and Arthur poured them all measures of Firewhiskey in silence as Bill passed out the full glasses. They all looked awkwardly at the floor, clutching the glass tumblers uncertainly, knowing no words would be adequate to fill the horrible, gaping silence which coiled like smoke through the house.

"Fred," Charlie said simply, raising his glass in salute. The murmur was echoed around the room, and they drank. At least then they could pretend the watery and stinging eyes were just because of the whiskey's burn.


End file.
